


the dark i know well

by queenC_13



Series: its you, its me, its us [1]
Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, You will be sad, basically every sad headcanon you could ever have about judy, but there's a happy-ish ending i swear, judy needs a giant fucking hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25487581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenC_13/pseuds/queenC_13
Summary: “The night that Steve died, I was gonna kill myself. But then you called me, and you saved me.” what led Judy (and Jen) to that moment and how can they move past it? (basically a giant character exploration of Judy that eventually ends with love confessions and sex)
Relationships: Judy Hale & Jen Harding, Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Series: its you, its me, its us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992274
Comments: 45
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lagunabitchgc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lagunabitchgc/gifts).



> so this is NOT the next chapter of 'three child mothering team' but it IS the longest and hardest i've ever worked on a fic. s/o to @bgaydocrimes for the prompt and then helping me go so much deeper into the prompt and bouncing around/supporting all of the sad Judy headcanons we could possibly think of
> 
> TWs for ch1!! self harm, sexual assault, suicidal thoughts, domestic violence
> 
> If you want to skip around the sections for ch1 there are line breaks for each age so specific trigger warnings are  
> age 13: sexual assault  
> age 16: slight domestic violence  
> age 25: self harm  
> age 36: suicidal thoughts, after the italics of 'you can die'
> 
> chapters 2 and 3 are less heavy, somehow i hope you enjoy
> 
> (title taken from the song in the musical 'spring awakening')

Judy was 8 years old the first time her mom left her alone for more than a few hours. Usually she was back before Judy went to bed, smelling of smoke and the clear alcohol she always drank and some other scent that Judy wasn’t sure about. Judy would stay awake until Eleanor would stumble through the door of their trailer saying something like “shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” and then passing out on her own bed. Judy would get a glass of water to leave on the table next to her mom’s bed before finally laying down on the sofa and falling asleep herself.

This time, though, she watched the clock getting later and later (wringing her hands in her ever-present baby blanket) and her mom still wasn’t coming through the door. The clock showed 11, then 12, and by 3am Judy realized she had to try and sleep so she could be awake for school the next day—she dreaded what her mom would do if her teacher started asking questions again.

But then Judy dreaded the thought that her mom wasn’t coming back at all. What would she do then? She would have to tell someone, but her mom told her she couldn’t trust any ‘authority figures’ and that it was them against the world. But right now it was only Judy against the world, and she would need some way to get money for food and other things.

The worry kept her awake all night anyway, so by the time the clock hit 7 she was putting on one of her favorite too-big dresses (‘I can’t afford to keep buying you clothes Judy Ann, you’ll just have to grow into what I bring you home’) and sprinkling some baby powder in her hair to soak up the oils (‘You think we’re made of money? Water costs money, you can survive with one hair wash a week’). Luckily there were 2 pieces of bread left on the counter, so Judy put a slice in the toaster, carefully setting the timer, before choking it down dry for breakfast.

By 7:30 when it was time for her to start her walk to school, her mom still wasn’t back. Judy debated whether to lock the trailer door—who knows what state her mom would come home in and if she had her keys—and eventually decided to just leave it for the day. It’s not like they had anything of worth to take anyway. (At least that’s what her mom always told her.)

She made her way through the day just barely able to focus on the subjects being taught, only coming alive at lunch time when she saw her favorite lunch lady working—she always gave Judy a cookie, despite her free meal ticket not technically covering it.

When Judy finally got home that afternoon, Eleanor still wasn’t back yet and Judy didn’t know what to do. Her mom told her to ‘never never _never_ talk to cops Judy Ann’ but what if something had happened? What if her mom was gone or hurt or lost? Who was Judy supposed to talk to?

She made her way through her homework as best as she could—although she couldn’t help the doodles that may have ended up in the margins in the process—and rummaged around their sparse kitchen, finally finding an old can of baked beans to have for dinner. She debated on having the last piece of bread, but she wasn’t sure if she would need it for breakfast in the morning. Eventually it was 8 o’clock and her mom still wasn’t back. While Judy usually tried not to complain, this was definitely one of those times she wished she had a TV or a radio like the other kids in school—the silence was becoming too much for her. Judy ended up singing herself to sleep, waking up what felt like every 30 minutes to make sure she hadn’t missed her mom coming home.

The next day went the same way, only by dinner time she didn’t know what to do because there was no more food left. Judy wasn’t a stranger to hunger pains, but she at least always knew that her mom would be able to get them something eventually. What was she supposed to do on her own?

It was as she was laying on her side on the couch, putting herself in one of her imaginary worlds in order to escape her own, that her mom finally came through the door.

“Judy!” her mom slurred out.

(So it was still one of those nights.)

“Mom, where were you?” Judy said, trying to stop her eyes from filling up with tears. Her mom hated it when she cried. “I didn’t know if you were coming home.”

“Oh Judy Ann, don’t be so dramatic,” her mom said. “I’ve hardly even been gone.”

“You were gone for 2 whole days. I was just worried!” She rushed out the second part, not wanting her mom to think she was talking back.

“Well you’re just such a good girl, I knew that you would be okay by yourself for a little bit longer than usual. You understand, right baby?”

Judy felt herself nod. “It’s okay,” she said.

But the feeling in her tummy didn’t feel okay. It was ugly, twisting, like a kind of hurt she wasn’t sure she had ever felt before. She squeezed her hands into fists and felt her nails start digging into the skin—that hurt too. And she found that she liked that hurt, so she dug her nails in a little bit harder, drawing the tiniest bit of blood.

Huh.

Making it hurt on the outside made it hurt a little bit less on the inside.

It wasn’t the first time Judy had said it was okay when it wasn’t. And it also wasn’t the first time she made herself hurt.

* * *

Judy was 10 when they had to start living in her mom’s old, beat up hatchback, affectionately named ‘Blue’ by Judy herself. (And only referred to as such in her head).

Eleanor had lost yet another job because she never showed up on time and was high more often than not. Judy almost preferred the past when she was drunk all the time—her mom was a nicer drunk. But Eleanor on drugs? She could be vicious, and Judy dreaded doing anything to set that off. So they lost their trailer, then they lost most of their belongings, and now the only meal Judy regularly looked forward to was the free lunch she was still able to get at school.

Judy had gotten even more used to the hunger pangs now, although the lack of food meant she still hadn’t grown into any of her favorite dresses. The kids at school teased her for being so small, for everything constantly hanging off her, which also made it easier for kids to grab her and trip her as she was walking by.

But she was at an overcrowded public school in Santa Ana and teachers had more things to worry about than Judy—most teachers hardly noticed her at all, which was just how her mom liked it. If no one noticed her, then no one could question her (or her mom).

It was fine though; Judy didn’t want to complain. The year before she had discovered the public library in the town and if she found a secluded enough corner, no one would ever bother her. She would curl up and do her homework and then find a book to read—or, more often than not, just work on her drawings. She had a whole world that she could dive into with other girls just like her. The quiet girls who got to wear pretty dresses that everyone admired and everyone was nice to. Where there were no parents and no one to disappoint. Plus, if she was lucky, sometimes the college kids in the town would leave some of their snacks behind and Judy was quick enough to take them for herself.

So that’s how Judy spent most of her days—going to school, going to the library until dark, and then going back to wherever her mom had parked that night, curling up in the trunk of the hatchback and waiting for her mom to eventually stumble into the backseat—always trying to keep herself as small as possible; never wanting to be noticed.

One night, though, her mom was sitting in the driver’s seat and Judy could tell as she was approaching the car that it was going to be one of the bad nights. Eleanor’s hands were moving manically over the steering wheel, her hair wild from constantly running her fingers through it and her eyes shifting around, eventually turning to Judy with a fire behind them.

She motioned for Judy to get into the front seat beside her. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Judy shook her head, eyes wide.

“You mean you haven’t told any of your precious teachers about our living arrangement?”

Judy shook her head again, knowing it was better if she didn’t even try to talk and just let her mom say whatever she was going to say.

“Well I was approached by _someone_ today who asked me if I was your mother. They said they were ‘worried’ about you and asked if we ‘needed help.’ You know that we don’t need help Judy Ann and you better not be telling anyone that we do,” Eleanor continued, only this time Judy could tell she was looking for a response.

“I haven’t told anyone,” Judy croaked out. Her voice was almost unfamiliar to her own ears, weak from its lack of use. “I don’t talk to anyone at school, not the teachers or anyone, I swear!”

Eleanor glared at her before finally letting out a disgusted scoff. “Well clearly you’re doing something wrong. Although I shouldn’t be surprised—when do you ever do anything right? I would’ve been better off never even having you. Should’ve aborted you after the fucking pregnancy test came out positive.”

Judy shut her eyes tight at the words, trying to steel herself against any reaction. She knew that it was the drugs—she knew her mother loved her.

That she had to love her.

But it was that night, when Judy was 10 years old, that she also wondered if she would be better off gone.

* * *

When Judy was 13, she and her mom were living with her mom’s new boyfriend, Mark. After about a year of living in the car, they had moved to a motel room that charged $10 per night plus Eleanor doing ‘business’ for them, which was how Eleanor had met Mark. According to Eleanor it was a match made in heaven, but Judy was older now—she knew better. She knew that her mom sold drugs for Mark, that he let them live in his house in exchange for sex.

She had grown up a lot in the last 3 years. She still tried to make herself invisible, but she listened more, learned more. She heard the boys in school talk about what they wanted to do to the girls. She heard Mark’s rough voice talking to her mom during the night (and the other sounds she never wanted to think about coming through the thin walls as she tried to sleep on his musty couch). She knew the color of the drugs that made her mom angry, the ones that made her weepy, the ones that made her a zombie.

And she also knew how to stay out of the way when Mark had his ‘friends’ over. His house was tiny, but he had brought her home a tent one day along with a sleeping bag that had definitely seen better days.

“Make yourself scarce, kid,” he told her.

It took a few tries, but she finally got the tent set up in the backyard, out of view of the living room windows. She knew that if they were still home after dinner that meant Mark would be ‘entertaining’ for the night, so she would take her backpack with her notebook, pencils, and books from the library out to the tent (also making sure that the flashlight she stole from one of Mark’s drawers and her baby blanket were hidden in the bottom).

Only one night something changed.

It was hot that night so the windows were open, and Judy could smell the pungent mix of smoke and alcohol floating through the air. There wasn’t any music playing tonight, but she could hear the rumble of male voices laughing, harsh, the noises splitting through her head. Then, through the noise, Judy could hear her mom and Mark arguing, their voices slowly getting louder, angrier.

“That was never part of the agreement,” Eleanor’s voice carried. It sounded like she was close to crying—must be the downer drugs tonight. She heard some more incoherent cries, and then a shouted “too young!”

Suddenly the back door flew open; lazy footsteps followed by her mother’s quick, panicked ones.

“Juuudy,” Mark called. He wasn’t on the downers—he was on a mix of alcohol and something else, something ugly. “I know you’re still awake in there Judy.”

“Stop it!” Eleanor was still crying.

Judy could see their silhouettes through the tent, could see her mom trying to pull Mark backwards. Her palms started sweating—Mark had never had an interest in her like this before. Something felt wrong; this wasn’t supposed to be happening. Why was her mom crying? Why was he coming out here?

She jumped as Mark suddenly popped through the opening of the tent, his intoxicating breath close to her face.

“Hey Judy-licious, how would you like to help me out with somethin’?” he slurred.

Judy tried to back up, heart sticking in her chest as she hit the wall of the tent, unable to move any further.

“Mark, no,” Eleanor tried pulling on his arm again. Pistol quick he turned, slapping Eleanor across the face and wrapping his hand around her throat. “What have I fuckin told you before, woman? You never lay a hand on me. You live in _my_ house so you’re gonna live by _my_ rules. Now talk to your fuckin daughter while I go get Carl.” He stormed away and then Eleanor was coming through the opening of the tent, the side of her cheek already red and swollen.

Judy stared at her mom in quiet horror, the nausea starting to climb up her throat.

“Judy, Mommy needs you to do me a favor tonight, okay?” Eleanor said. “You know how Mark has his friends come over right? They bring him stuff and then we help sell it? Well Mark lost some of the money and he needs to pay his friend back.”

Judy’s ears started ringing and she had to refrain herself from shaking her head, knowing there was no way she could disagree with anyone in this state.

“Carl’s just gonna come hang out with you for a little bit okay? You know how Mommy and Mark spend some time in Mark’s room sometimes? It’s just gonna be like that, baby, it’s not scary at all. Just do this one quick thing. You want to help Mommy, don’t you?”

She didn’t—Judy knew more than her mom was letting on. She knew it was going to hurt. She knew she wasn’t ready. She didn’t even know this person.

But she felt herself nodding anyway. “It’s okay,” she heard herself say.

“Good girl.” Eleanor reached out and squeezed Judy’s hand right as the back door opened again.

Judy could feel her heart beating over time, her palms practically dripping at this point. Eleanor backed out of the tent and moments later a new face was coming through. He smelled the same as Mark—had the same sallow face and yellowed teeth, the same smoky breath reeking from his mouth.

“Ain’t you a beauty?” he drawled out, looking her up and down. Judy was in her normal pajamas—long baggy pants and an extra-large t-shirt—but even that made her feel too exposed now. The man (Carl, apparently) slowly crawled into the tent, backing Judy fully against the side. He leaned over her, seeming to take a long whiff of her hair and letting out a deep groan.

Judy clutched her hands into fists beside her, one hand brushing against the side of her baby blanket. She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped her hand around the corner of the blanket, trying to only focus on that. She couldn’t feel the rest of her body anymore—it was like she existed outside of it, looking down on the situation from above. All she knew was the buzzing in her ears, the fabric between her fingers.

Until it was over and she was alone again.

Alone in her tent that had been hers and now wasn’t.

Just like her body was hers, and now it wasn’t.

Judy didn't know what happened after that, knew that there was more yelling and crying. Knew her mom threw a bottle at Mark, knew he beat her until it was quiet.

She finally left the tent when it was quiet, a piece of broken glass catching on her foot. She picked it up, wondering what it would be like to press it somewhere else. Somewhere else to feed the hurt.

She looked down, noticing she was just in her t-shirt now, barely covering her upper thighs. Suddenly she was back in the tent, sitting, holding the glass over her thigh. And then it was against her thigh, and a bloom of red appeared as she made the first cut. And that cut still didn’t hurt—not enough—so she made another, and another, until finally she just stopped feeling.

It was after that night that Judy finally talked to a teacher, finally told someone about her mom.

She was broken and she wanted it to get better, wanted to get her and her mom away from Mark.

But instead they took her mom away, made Judy help, made her tell what they did to her.

And nothing ever hurt as much as getting that part of her ripped away that night.

But she kept cutting just to try.

* * *

When Judy was 16, she had her first serious boyfriend, Danny. He was 3 years older; a second-year senior while she was a sophomore. One day he walked up to her while she was eating lunch outside (why bother the pretense of wanting to be included or making friends) and just sat down.

“You’re cute,” he said. “I’m Danny.”

And after that, they were just together.

Judy had been in the foster system for the least 3 years, bounced around between families and group homes, staying invisible but still never being able to please anyone.

But with Danny—he actually paid attention to her. He brought her flowers (picked from people’s yards, but still), took her to concerts, got her into music and weed and alcohol.

(She was wary at first, she didn’t want to be her mom, but the fear helped her control herself.)

Danny also came from a broken home, both of his parents deadbeats; they left him living with a grandma who could hardly take care of herself. They bonded over it being them against the world, would talk about it under the cover of darkness when she stayed over most nights. She felt like Danny truly loved her, truly _saw_ her. He made her feel like she was enough.

Which is why she shouldn’t have been surprised the first time he hit her.

Because of course she could never _really_ be enough, not for her mom, not for anyone.

He wasn’t at school one day, so Judy decided to pick him up a sandwich and cigarettes to bring to him on lunch break. She made the walk to his house, sweating a bit under his borrowed green army jacket, and walked around to his bedroom window in the back, knocking lightly. She waited a moment, and then tried to peek through the glass, knocking again. All of a sudden the window was yanked open and Danny was right in her face.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Judy?” he hissed. He swung his body out of the window, landing on the ground in front of her, his face contorted with a rage so familiar to her—but never before seen on him.

“You weren’t at school,” Judy stuttered out. “So I thought-“

“Clearly you didn’t think,” he growled. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She held up the grocery bag weakly. “I brought you lunch… and some cigarettes.”

He ripped the bag out of her hands and tore open the wrapping around the sandwich. “Seriously Judy? Turkey? I don’t even fucking like turkey.” He took the cigarettes and then threw the bag with the sandwich back at her.

Judy flinched.

“C’mon Judy, don’t be like that,” Danny said.

“I’m sorry.”

Out of nowhere his hand struck out across her face. “Yeah, now you’re sorry. You dumb bitch.” He turned away from her, pacing back and forth, breath huffing in and out.

Judy stood there in shock, her cheek tingling with pain. Danny turned back towards her quickly and she steeled herself against another flinch, not wanting to make him angrier. It was then that she noticed his eyes, the pupils tiny and shifting back and forth manically.

Of course, he was high.

Judy knew how to deal with this.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll make sure to remember for next time. What can I do?”

The words worked, de-escalating Danny’s anger and making him come forward, holding her face with his slightly shaking hands.

“Just be smarter next time, okay?”

Judy nodded.

“Go back to school, I’ll pick you up later.”

He guided her back towards the front yard, Judy’s shock letting her be led like a rag-doll. She walked back down the street in a daze, lightly reaching up to touch her still stinging cheek.

_You deserved it_ , she heard her mother’s voice in her head. _You just can’t do anything right, Judy Ann_.

And she knew the voice was right—she couldn’t do anything right. She would just try harder next time.

And she continued trying, staying with Danny for another 2 years, even when the slaps turned to punches and punches turned to kicks. Sometimes he would apologize, but more often than not he made sure to tell her exactly what she had done wrong.

And Judy relished the pain.

Because she did do everything wrong, so it was just what she deserved.

* * *

Judy was 25 when she finally cut too hard.

She had scraped her way through art school, taking 6 years to graduate instead of the usual 4—working 2 full time jobs while trying to juggle classes—but she had still done it, all on her own. She had had a few flings through college (exploring her newfound appreciation for girls was a definite bright spot), but for the most part was always on her own.

She rented a tiny studio apartment in the basement of someone’s house, which was perfect because no one was bothered by her comings and goings. The old couple upstairs would occasionally bring her meals (had even invited her for Thanksgiving and Christmas meals when they realized she had no family), but other than that and a few passing work colleagues and people in her art classes, Judy continued to only rely on herself.

It was lonely, but it was also safe.

Judy was also glad that no one was around to bother her during her down days, usually followed by the worst of her nightmares.

When she was little she took solace in her blanket, and then after _that_ night took solace in the cutting. When she was with Danny she stopped, because he kept the pain fresh. But school was stressful, and so was working. And one of her jobs was at a bar where men would come in, hitting on her—men who looked like Mark, who sounded like Carl—and sometimes she just needed that release again.

And one night it got especially bad. A night where one of the men had waited until her shift ended, tried following her out of the bar, tried grabbing her. If she hadn’t had her pepper spray, if she hadn’t changed into her running shoes after shift, she was terrified to think what could have happened.

What could have been taken from her once again.

She got home in a daze, her whole body still slightly trembling from fear. She got straight in the shower, wanting to wash the bad feelings away. She turned up the water as hot as her body could stand, watching as her skin turned red from the burn. But it still wasn’t enough. She got out, wrapped her towel around herself, found herself sitting on the closed toilet lid with the tiny razor in her hand. She parted the towel, looking at the crisscrossed scars and healing scratches up and down her thighs and along her lower hips.

Her hand moved on muscle memory and she watched as it moved to one of the oldest scars, reopening the wound, the familiar stream of blood blooming up. But the pain wasn’t coming. She couldn't feel it through the numbness, through the shaking, through the flashback of that night she couldn’t stop re-living.

She pressed harder. Harder. Deeper.

She craved the pain, the release.

She pressed until she couldn’t see the skin on her thighs, until all she saw was red, until she started getting dizzy.

_Wait. Something wasn’t right_.

Her head was spinning; the blood was almost running down her thighs to the floor now. This was too much. She went too far.

Judy stumbled off the toilet, practically crawling to the living area where the phone sat on the side table. She dialed 9-1-1 with still trembling hands, hearing herself ask for help, not knowing the address, not knowing anything except _blood so much blood._

Then there were lights in her eyes and she was moving and she was still numb and it was so bright it was the hospital and the doctors were talking to her and asking if they could call anyone and asked if she wanted to kill herself but she didn’t she just wanted to feel the pain she just wanted to feel _anything_. And then her eyes were closing and she couldn’t keep them open and as she drifted off she thought, finally some peace.

And when she finally got home the next day, after they made her talk to the psychologist and showed her how to clean the wounds and told her when she would need to come back to get the stitches taken out and kept saying how lucky she was, all she craved was that same feeling of peace.

She walked through her door, hit by the stale scent of metal and felt sick at the sight of all the dried blood.

Blood that came from her—because she was a failure, because she couldn’t even die right.

And she just didn’t have the energy, couldn’t deal with it right now, knew that she might lose her job but she just needed to shut her eyes, shut the world out. She made her way to her bed, reaching under the pillow for the familiar green fabric. She breathed it in, let the memories assault her, but clutched it tight. The skin on her legs was stinging, a sharp pain shooting through her every time she moved and shifted the stitches.

No more cutting.

She could do that. She could stop herself from failing again.

She pulled the blanket up to her face, her body overtaken with sobs. Her hands moved to her hair, pulling, hard. She slapped her face once: _stop it_. And stopped the tears almost as soon as they had started.

And that slap had felt good.

Still a sting, but no blood.

She could survive on that instead.

* * *

Judy was 36 when she met Steve and fell pregnant for the first time after only 3 months of dating. She was nervous (so nervous) to tell him, knowing all too well how men could react to surprises, but he was excited—ecstatic even. He said they should get married, proposed properly with a flash mob, got her the beautiful ring, introduced her to his family. He threw her a birthday party, showered her with gifts, told her he loved her.

And then a month later she lost that baby.

“We can just try again,” Steve soothed her. And Judy nodded, believed him. They would try again—they would keep trying so that she could give him the baby he deserved.

The baby she so desperately wanted.

So she kept the ring on and they kept trying. It took longer this time—5 months just to get pregnant—and she lost that baby at only 7 weeks.

“It’s okay,” Steve said that time. “It wasn’t even a baby yet. It wasn’t _our_ baby yet.”

The third time she got pregnant quickly; right after they were cleared to once again start trying. Steve doted on her, not wanting her to lift a finger or worry about anything. He was the man she had always dreamed about—a Prince Charming who had saved her from her old life, who made her feel worthy, who made her feel _loved._

(She realized she hadn’t actually felt love before, not with her mom, not with Danny, not with any of those college flings. Steve was truly _it_ for her, and it made her even more scared to fuck up.)

That time she made it to nearly the 12-week mark. But when they went to the ultrasound there was no heartbeat. The baby was already gone. The baby had been gone for almost a week and Judy hadn’t even known.

What was she doing wrong?

_You’re such a fuck up, Judy_. Always her mom’s voice, always taunting her.

Judy would wait until Steve was asleep, would wait to go into the bathroom and stare herself down. She had gotten better at the hitting over the years—just enough to hurt, but never enough to leave a mark. The scars had been hard enough to explain to Steve; she had claimed something about abuse and childhood and drugs. He didn’t ask many questions.

He also didn’t spend a lot of time down by her legs—more of a taker than a giver.

But that was fine, because all Judy wanted was to give.

Which was why she had to give Steve this baby.

The fourth time Judy was 39 and they started fertility treatments.

“Only the best for my girl,” Steve had said, but she could see the strain in his smile, the way his gaze had started wandering away from her every time they were in public.

And just like the second pregnancy, she barely made it past 7 weeks. Steve had spent all that money and she couldn’t even make it into a second trimester.

“Stupid, _stupid_.”

(It was getting harder to not leave marks.)

The sex felt like a chore at this point, something they had to do for the sake of getting a baby. Judy wasn’t sure if Steve even wanted a baby anymore—or wanted one with her—but still they kept trying. She couldn’t fail at this. She couldn’t fail at another thing.

The fifth time they almost tried to ignore it. Judy missed her period, took 3 tests, and then just left them out quietly for Steve to find. They didn’t acknowledge it, only talking about it at the initial doctors’ visit and then not again until the 12-week ultrasound. Steve kept cooking her healthy foods, kept trying to keep her from stress or straining, but it was almost like the pregnancy didn’t even exist.

(Besides the fear silently permeating everything.)

But at the 12-week ultrasound they heard the heartbeat, and Judy’s vital signs were good. And then she was 13 weeks, then 14, then 15. And finally by 16 weeks they would sprinkle thoughts about the baby into conversation, daring to hope.

Would the baby have Judy’s eyes? Would it have Steve’s smile? Would they lean more towards sports or art?

And by 18 weeks they were planning the nursery, Judy going with Steve to pick out a soft green paint and stencils of animals for the walls, and looking online for the furniture they needed. Judy started a registry after Steve’s assurance that his family would buy them the highest quality gifts and she didn’t need to worry about it. Steve started talking to the baby at night, cradling Judy’s stomach like it was the most important part of her—and she knew that it was. The excitement came back to his eyes, the spark of desire for her becoming present again.

And of course it was because things were going well, because Judy didn’t deserve for them to go well, that everything shattered.

At 20 weeks she was woken up in the middle of the night by a sharp pain, causing her to gasp out loud.

“ _Steve_ ,” she tried to grasp his hand. “Something’s wrong.”

He rushed her to the hospital, lips drawn tight with tension. She squeezed his hand as the pains kept coming, getting sharper every time. They got her into a room, got the doctor, set up an ultrasound but Judy already knew… she was losing this one, too.

The doctor was telling her something—nothing they could have done, not her fault—but he was wrong, it was her fault. It was her fault for craving the pain too much, for never getting anything right.

“You’re going to have to deliver her, I’m sorry.”

The words echoed through Judy’s head until the pain threw her back into the present, realizing what the doctor meant. She was in labor—she would have to go through the entire process, only for her baby to already be gone.

A guttural sob ripped from deep within her stomach, doubling her forward with what she now realized were contractions. And then she was outside of her body again, like that night when she was 13, and she couldn’t feel the pain anymore, could barely hear the nurses telling her to push, _push_ , and then her vision went black and she woke up and she knew the baby was gone, knew her womb was empty now.

Just like she was empty.

And Steve was still there but he wasn’t looking at her, wasn’t saying anything.

The doctors asked if she wanted to hold the baby, if she wanted to hold her daughter, but Judy shook her head because she couldn’t, she couldn’t see the face and know what she had done—know that she was the reason her daughter would never live. They checked her vitals and recommended staying the night but Steve was saying no and that he would take care of her at home and Judy believed him.

(She shouldn’t have believed him.)

One of the nurses helped her back into her dress as Steve went outside to bring the car around. Helped her walk out of the room and towards the entrance, holding her when she couldn’t walk any further, holding her as she cried—cried for her daughter, for herself, for the pain that she always craved but never wanted, not like this.

And then Steve was back and he was putting his own arm around her but too tight, and it hurt, and he assured the nurse that he would take care of her but then he led her to the driver’s seat, told her she needed to drive.

And she should have said no, but she didn’t—couldn’t—and it was silent. She could feel Steve’s rage brewing beside her and she knew it was her fault, knew that he was finally going to yell at her for losing this one too. And then it was happening and they were fighting and then-

-And then there was a thump, a crash, something flying over the hood of the car and Judy wanted to go back and Steve was yelling _drive, stupid_ and she was driving away and not only had she killed her daughter, but she had killed someone’s husband now too.

Judy had never believed more strongly that she should be the one who was dead instead.

* * *

But she wasn’t dead.

She was making friends with the guy’s wife, and she was moving into her house and getting to know her sons and she was falling in love with her, with all of them, with this family she never had but always wanted.

And the guilt was eating her alive.

“I hate that person,” she told Jen, and she meant it—she had never hated anyone but she truly hated herself—but she was still trying to help, trying to give Jen any kind of peace.

But then Jen was telling her that it was her fault, that she hit him, and Judy couldn’t have that, couldn’t have Jen blaming herself.

“I hit him,” she heard herself saying. “I drove a ’66 Mustang.”

And then she was asking Jen what she could do, what could she do to make it better?

_You can die_.

The words echoed around and around, nothing Judy hadn’t already thought of herself. Nothing she hadn’t thought of for years—because she was a waste of space, a failure, and she couldn’t even do this friendship right. Couldn’t love anyone or anything right.

But she tried one more time, tried to tell Jen how much she loved her.

_I fucking hate you_.

And her decision was made.

If that’s what Jen wanted, if that’s what would bring her peace, then Judy could do it.

It was inevitable. She knew it in her bones—this was her destiny.

So she got the check and she put it in the bird and made sure it got to Henry. And then she went back to where it happened, where she took the life of someone who hadn’t deserved to die, who wasn’t a failure.

And she could feel herself crying, but she also felt a deep sense of calm, a sense that this was right. She could hear voices swirling in her head—her mom, Mark, Carl, Danny, Steve, and now Jen.

_You can never do anything right, Judy Ann._

_Hey Judy-licious, can you help me out with somethin’?_

_Ain’t you a beauty._

_You dumb bitch._

_Drive, stupid!_

_You can die._

Over and over the voices consumed her, one after the other, _you can die_ , louder than all the rest. She could die—and she would; after the near-miss at 25, this time she would finally follow through. 

So she took a shuddering breath and stepped out, into the road, waiting. It was the perfect way, she thought. She had taken someone’s life by car—why not have her own life taken by one as well?

And the car was coming, and she braced herself, ready for this ultimate pain, but then it was swerving and someone was yelling at her and it wasn’t over.

She was still here.

Once again, failing.

But her phone was ringing, and it was Jen. It was _Jen_. So she answered and heard the words she had been longing to hear her whole life.

_Judy, I need you to come home_.

She went home ( _home_ ) and Steve was dead, and Jen was saying it was self defense and Judy was _devastated_ but Jen was talking to her and she was helping Jen and she would do anything to continue helping Jen.

And the friendship slowly started to build back up until Jen was asking her to be her person and of course Judy would be her person—Jen was the only one to make her feel like she wasn’t the failure she was.

And there was Michelle and Ben and the lies and the grief but Jen was there, with her, through it all.

So she was going to confess, take the blame. This was her penance—this was the way she could make things right. And she could hear herself telling Jen, opening up about what happened. 

And Jen was saying _Oh Judy_ and Judy was continuing, that Jen saved her for a reason, so that she could do this for her now. This was what she was supposed to do.

(“If it wasn’t for me, none of this would have happened.”)

But then Jen was saying it wasn’t self defense, _he was walking away_ , and she attacked him and _she lied_ and why would she do that? And she said that Steve was saying some terrible things and it didn’t matter but it did matter because what the fuck did Steve say to her? 

_He said that Ted jumped in front of your car, that he wanted to die because of me_ and that wasn’t true, that was just what Steve did, he just wanted to _hurt_ and Jen was calling herself a piece of shit but no, that was Judy, that wasn’t Jen. And Judy loved Jen, she could never hate Jen, but-

_You love anyone who just gives you a morsel of fucking attention, even if it’s abusive._ _It’s why you loved Steve and why you love your shitty, fucking asshole mother. You’ll just stick around for anybody_. 

And Jen was right. Judy knew Jen was right.

It was why she stayed silent about her mom for so long; it was why she didn’t fight back that night; it was why she stayed with Danny, why she stayed with Steve. It was why she kept cutting, kept hitting. If she couldn’t stick around for anybody then she had to stick around for herself, and sticking around for herself hurt—she had to make it hurt.

But the words coming from Jen?

It was like a hurt she had never felt before.

So she ran, could feel herself running, opening her car door and Jen was coming after her and screaming at her to _hit me, hit me!_ but Judy couldn’t do it.

“I’m not like you,” she heard herself saying. She didn’t hit other people—she was the one who got hit.

And Jen was begging her not to go and begging her to hit her to run her over and Judy couldn’t take it, couldn’t take anything anymore, couldn’t focus and _stop it stop it STOP_.

The pain was too much and she had to do something, had to let it out, could feel her fists beating against her chest but then Jen was there and she was holding her and telling her it was okay and it wasn’t okay, it’s not okay.

But Jen just held her anyway, held her tighter, led her back inside and to her room. She laid down and pulled Judy with her, wrapped her arms back around her and _it wasn’t okay_ but felt like maybe one day it could be okay.

And for the first time in her life, more than feeling loved, Judy just felt safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jen's POV- a bit less heavy

The first time Jen heard Judy’s reflex of saying “it’s okay” was right at the beginning, right after she moved in. Judy was telling Jen that there was a lot of Ted in the guesthouse, a lot of “energy.” But then ended the statement with an, “it’s okay, really,” and a pained, forced smile.

“Well, it doesn’t… you’re clearly upset, so it doesn’t seem okay,” Jen had said back. And Judy’s pained _I’m sorry_ pierced Jen through the stomach. And then she kept going, apologizing for suggesting that Jen sell some of Ted’s belongings and clearly trying to placate her even though she didn’t need to.

It just kept happening, little moments where Judy would say something was okay, but Jen knew that it wasn’t okay, so why the fuck did she keep saying it?

And Jen knows that she’s part of the problem; there’s so many times she’s yelled at Judy even when she shouldn’t have.

( _Shut up._

_Okay.)_

( _Can you just stop saying sorry? You say sorry so much it doesn’t mean anything anymore. It’s just like this fucking sound that comes out of your mouth._

 _Okay, sorry._ )

She wonders whose fault this is, though, who caused Judy to think that everything is her fault. Judy has told her a little bit about her mom (enough for Jen to know that Eleanor Hale is a class-A Bitch), but she had also seen Steve in action, knows that he had Judy so perfectly under his thumb that she must have believed anything he said.

It makes Jen heart hurt for Judy, the way it’s never really hurt for anyone except her boys.

She just wants to help her see that some things aren’t okay.

* * *

They were at the grief retreat the first time Jen noticed the scars. They had changed to go to the pool and were putting on sunscreen when Judy’s hands pushed up her sarong as she rubbed the lotion into her legs.

“Holy shit, Jude, what happened?” Jen’s hand reached out before she could stop herself, stilling Judy’s and staring at the white scars crisscrossing her skin. It looked like the other woman had been mutilated and Jen knew she was staring (knew she likely had an expression of horror on her face, exactly how she hated Ted staring at her) but she was stunned—couldn’t understand how this had happened to Judy.

Only Judy shifted away, pulling her hand out of Jen’s grasp and letting the sarong fall back down over her skin.

An awkward smile stretched across her face, something Jen was getting too familiar with and didn’t like. Judy’s natural smile was so beautiful, so filled with sunshine, it was near painful to see her try and fake it.

“It’s nothing,” Judy said. She stood up, grabbing her towel and a book and started putting them in her bag, avoiding eye contact. “Rough childhood, you know how it can be as a teenager.”

And Jen did know how rough childhood could be—she lost her mom for God’s sake—but her skin wasn’t fucking mutilated.

That wasn’t normal.

What could have possibly happened for Judy to have done that to herself?

(And oh God, Jen hoped she had done it to herself—as horrible as it was—hoped no one else had inflicted that pain upon her.)

And then Judy was fleeing the room, a quick “see you down there!” thrown over her shoulder before Jen could ask anything else. And when she finally did join her (after getting a drink of course), Judy acted like nothing had happened, just talking about how good it was for them to get away and reading her book.

( _Codependent No More_ , the irony certainly struck Jen, now.)

So Jen dropped it, followed Judy’s lead.

But she still never forgot the scars, and how seeing them made her feel.

(That it was part of when she started loving Judy even more.)

* * *

Then there was another time, Jen remembers, where Judy showed signs of not being okay, of something horrible happening in her past but acting like nothing was out of the ordinary.

It was some time after Steve when they were trying to be normal (trying not to get caught) when Henry and Shandy came up to Jen after dinner asking if they could go ‘camping’ in the backyard. She was sitting at the dining room table trying to get some work done but could see Judy was almost done with the dishes in the kitchen.

“Ask Judy if she knows how to set up a tent.”

She thought nothing of it—Ted used to set the boys up in their tent in the summer all the time—but all of a sudden Jen heard a crash from the kitchen, looked up to see the plate Judy had been washing shattered all over the floor while Judy herself stood like a statue at the sink, her eyes blank and unseeing.

“Jude? Judy?!” Jen rushed over, ushering Shandy and Henry out of the kitchen and away from the glass, spitting shallow assurances to Henry that everything was okay.

She turned back to see that Judy hadn’t moved a muscle, her eyes showing that clearly she was somewhere else. Somewhere Jen desperately wished she could follow, so she could pull her out.

“Judy?” Jen approached her like she would a scared animal, keeping her voice soft. “Jude, hon, come back to me.” She reached her hand out, keeping it in Judy’s view just in case the woman could register it in this state, until it reached Judy’s shoulder and she squeezed lightly. “Judy, can you come back to me now?”

She squeezed Judy’s shoulder again, slightly harder this time but still applying barely any pressure, when Judy suddenly gasped and refocused her eyes on Jen. She looked at Jen for a moment, mouth gaping, before glancing around them, seeing the shattered plate on the floor and the lack of children in the room.

“Oh my God Jen I’m so sorry, let me clean this up! I just ruined one of your plates _fuck_ , I’m so stupid I can buy you a new one tomorrow I promise.”

“What- Judy it’s fine, don’t worry about it. What just happened?”

Judy was moving quickly, gathering the broom and dustpan from the closet and coming back, sweeping the shards into the dustpan.

“Judy,” Jen said, sharper.

Judy looked up to her with that same smile that looked like it could shatter at any moment. “Yeah?”

“What the fuck just happened?” Jen pressed.

“Nothing,” Judy said quickly. She reached into the crevice under the sink where one of the shards was stubbornly refusing to get swept up, and then dropped it again quickly when it cut her hand. “ _Fuck_ ,” she muttered. “Stupid, _stupid_.”

Seriously, what the fuck was happening? Jen hauled Judy up by her arm, turned on the sink and gingerly placed Judy’s hand beneath the water.

“It’s okay,” Judy let out a slightly unhinged sounding giggle. “It’s not that deep—definitely not enough to pass out and go to the hospital!”

What the _fuck_. She was making it sound like that had happened before—like-

“Jude, I need you to tell me what’s going on.” Jen was trying so hard not to snap at her. (She hated the way Judy would flinch, would look like a kicked puppy when Jen would snap at her.)

“I’m fine,” Judy insisted.

Jen sighed, but couldn’t get Judy to look at her, knew she wouldn’t get Judy to talk when she was like this. So she went to get the first aid kit and bandaged Judy up in silence, letting the other woman continue to pretend like nothing was wrong.

But when Jen found Henry afterwards, she asked him to forget about the tent—that was Ted’s thing, and it wasn’t Judy’s.

They never brought up the tent again.

* * *

Jen thinks about Steve, and she isn’t sorry for what she did. She’s sorry that her actions hurt Judy, feels sick that she has to lie to her, but as far as Steve no longer being in the world? Jen knows she did a service to humanity.

She thinks about their confrontation, when Steve let it slip that he was in the car. The false pity and condescending tone of, “That was honestly one of the worst moments of my entire life.” 

And the way that when Jen apologized (fucking sarcastically) he thanked her, actually claimed it killed him not to tell her and that was when she knew.

She knew that it wasn’t Judy’s fault, that Judy had been driving but it was truly because of Steve.

So she asked him, asked him why he didn’t stop that night, that Judy had said she wanted to go back but couldn’t. And he was stuttering, claiming he didn’t know. ( _Don’t turn this into some blame the man thing._ ) But she knew what he was capable of. And his reaction proved it.

( _What did you say? Huh? After she hit him what did you say?_

 _I don’t remember._ )

“Judy would have stopped,” she told him, because she knew it in her soul. She knew that the Judy she loved was a good person, even though at the moment she was trying to hate her.

And then it escalated, and she had the gun pulled on him and was telling him to leave and he _was_ leaving but he just couldn’t fucking let it go.

( _Ted—he jumped in front of our car. And you know what? I don’t blame him._

 _I’d want to kill myself too, you miserable cunt._ )

And then the rage took over and Jen killed him, and then she called Judy and told her to come home. And she was still angry but Judy was there and they were in this together and she loved her, even when pretending she hated her.

But _fucking Steve_.

And then she remembers that there was a time when they were on the couch, drinking too much wine, and Jen was talking about taking Charlie to track people’s speeds where they wanted the stop sign. She was laughing, telling Judy about Charlie’s horrified face when she told him that pushing his enormous head out of her vagina was hard work, when Judy responded offhandedly, “Yeah that’s definitely the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”

And Jen was more than a little taken aback because Judy hadn’t given birth, she had had miscarriages. But-

“What do you mean?” Jen forced herself to ask, even as the dread crept up her spine.

Judy looked at her, smiling lightly but eyes devoid of emotion. “Well I told you I made it to 20 weeks with my last pregnancy, right? It was too far along and I was having contractions, so I had to deliver her.”

Jen’s heart dropped to her stomach.

“Jude…”

“No, it’s okay.”

Jen inched closer and took Judy’s hands in hers. “Judy, that’s not okay. That’s fucking horrible. I’m so sorry you had to experience that.”

(And it was soft, a little too soft for Jen, but she doesn’t regret it—still hopes that somehow that statement will get through to Judy one day.)

Judy’s eyes had filled with tears and Jen had moved again, put her arm around Judy and brought her into her chest, and Judy started crying, "I’m sorry"s spilling out of her.

“Jude, honey, it’s not your fault. You don’t have to be sorry.”

Judy sniffled, “Sorry. Steve made me feel like it was my fault. That’s why I was driving, that night.”

That night?

“You don’t mean…”

Judy nodded into Jen’s chest. “We were on our way home from the hospital. He told me I had to drive. I guess he was just too upset, it was fine, but then- you know what happened.”

And Jen felt herself seething with rage, couldn’t fucking believe that he had put Judy through that—the pain of giving birth to a child, an already gone child, and then driving home, only to take the life of someone else.

If Jen hadn’t forgiven Judy yet, she would have then. Without a shadow of a doubt she knew that it truly hadn’t been Judy’s fault—the woman had been distraught and in pain, and then made to go against her will even more.

So yeah, Jen is glad that Steve is dead.

\---

But now Judy is saying that she’s going to turn herself in, take the blame for Steve, for all of it.

“The night that Steve died, I was gonna kill myself. But then you called me, and you saved me.”

And Jen feels like she’s going to throw up. She can’t have heard those words correctly. And Judy's said it so casually but it’s not casual—she was going to fucking kill herself? No, _no_.

 _Oh Judy_.

And she continues, saying that Jen saved her for a reason and that none of this would have happened if it wasn’t for her but that’s not true it’s Jen’s fault and she can feel the words coming out of her mouth:

 _I killed him. It wasn’t self-defense_.

And fuck, Judy’s face is crumpling and Jen knows it’s her fault and she doesn’t want to tell Judy what he said, doesn’t want to hurt her even more but then the words are spilling out of her and she’s crying, she’s a piece of shit and everyone hates her and she tells Judy that and of course Judy disagrees, says she could never fucking hate her and then she says it, can’t fucking stop herself.

_You love anyone who just gives you a morsel of fucking attention, even if it’s abusive. It’s why you loved Steve and why you love your shitty, fucking asshole mother. You’ll just stick around for anybody._

And Judy’s looking at her like she’s been slapped across the face and _fuck_ she’s running away and of course Jen has to run after her.

 _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, hit me, hit me instead_ and Judy says she’s not like her and Jen knows she’s right but she can’t stop anyway, can’t stop begging Judy to stay, not to go, to just fucking hit her.

But then Judy’s screaming, she’s telling Jen to stop it, just fucking stop it and she’s hitting herself and Jen’s heart is breaking further, something she didn’t even think was possible, and she runs around the car, throwing the door open and crawling into the front seat, pulling Judy into her.

_It’s okay._

_It’s not okay, it’s not okay._

And Judy’s right, it’s not okay, but Jen wants to make it okay. She _needs_ to make it okay for Judy. She holds her tighter, kisses her head, and eventually leads Judy up to her bedroom and lays down with her.

She has to make it okay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the lil bit of smut + finally some good feelings, you're welcome
> 
> (s/o to @bgaydocrimes and @realthiccbitch for all the support on this one and the entire fic in general xxx)

_The night that Steve died, I was gonna kill myself. But then you called me, and you saved me._

Jen lays awake, Judy’s words echoing in her mind. The woman is finally asleep beside her, had cried herself to sleep as Jen held her in her arms.

 _It’s not okay_.

When she said the words—“I was gonna kill myself”—it was like Jen’s entire world had stopped. It may have hurt less had Judy actually punched her in the stomach instead of ending up punching herself. 

Jen feels sick with guilt. _She_ was the one who had told Judy that she could die. She had lied and told Judy she hated her, had physically shoved her away when Judy was just trying to love her. And Judy had more than made up for everything now, even with Jen being a fucking murderer herself. 

(Which Jen was sure Judy had already forgiven her for, even after finally confessing the truth.)

Jen could never even _think_ about hating Judy. She was too kind, too giving, too _pure_. There was nothing Jen could ever do but love her.

So to think about the fact that Judy had believed her, that Judy was ready—was willing—to kill herself, because she thought that would appease Jen, because she thought it would be the right choice… Jen feels a sob building up.

Even when she had lost Judy, Judy was still in the world. But the thought of a world without Judy at all?

No, it was unthinkable.

Judy is everything. She’s Jen’s person. She is the only person who has made Jen feel like somehow she isn’t the worst fucking person on earth.

( _You love anyone who just gives you a morsel of fucking attention, even if it’s abusive_.)

And _fuck_ , Jen can’t believe she said that to her. She lashes out when she’s angry but she should have never lashed out like that at Judy. Yes, Judy can be clingy and co-dependent, and yes her mother and Steve were clearly abusive, but the truth is that Judy just sees the best in people, even when it’s hard to find. It’s like her superpower—always believing in people, always building them up.

Jen thinks about that light being gone from the world, about if Judy had succeeded, and the sob is rising up further and she clamps a hand over her mouth before the sound can escape, not wanting to wake Judy.

She can’t burden Judy with this, not when Judy’s clearly already been dealing with so much herself.

But Jen wants to know about Judy’s struggles, wants to learn about the past that she’s always skimmed over and acted like it didn’t matter. It matters to Jen; _Judy_ matters to Jen.

Judy needs to feel safe and loved and Jen wants to be the one to give her that. 

Another sob falls from her lips into her hand and Jen’s body jerks forward with the effort of stifling the noise, causing Judy to stir.

 _Fuck_.

“Jen?” Judy’s eyes are blinking slowly up at her, her face still slightly swollen from crying earlier.

“Everything’s fine, go back to sleep.” Jen’s voice is thick with tears, but she hopes Judy is tired enough not to notice.

(Of course she fucking noticed.)

“Jen what’s wrong?” she sits up, rubbing her eyes in a way that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

And it’s the way she’s looking at Jen, the way her eyes are so filled with concern and love instead of disgust, instead of anger—the way Jen knows she would look at herself—that finally breaks the dam. Sobs force themselves from deep within Jen’s chest, the ugly sobs that she’s always hidden from the world, now laid bare in front of Judy. 

“I’m sorry—God, I’m so fucking sorry Judy.”

Judy’s wrapping her arms around Jen, taking the impact of the way Jen’s body can’t stop heaving from her disgust and despair. “Why are you sorry?”

Jen can hear the confusion in her voice, making her own guilt even worse. “I’ve been fucking horrible to you. The things that I said—I can’t-”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not fucking okay Judy! Stop saying it’s okay!” She feels the other woman flinch beneath her, causing her to let out another “F _uck_ ” at herself. She shifts so she’s sitting up, so she can look Judy in the eyes. “I didn’t- I never thought- I could never be okay, Judy, if you weren’t in the world anymore.”

And Judy’s looking at her wide eyed, uncomprehending. 

“When you said,” Jen shudders, “You said you were going to _kill_ yourself, Judy. And that I saved you. But I’m the one who- I told you to-” her chest heaves with more sobs as she forces the words out. “I’m just so fucking sorry. I never should have said that. I never meant it and I never want you to feel like- like you should be- I _need_ you Judy.”

“Jen,” Judy says with a heartbreaking smile. “I meant it. You _are_ the one who saved me. My whole life I- I was a failure. I even- almost… once. But something saved me then, and I thought it was because of Steve, because he was my destiny, him and a family. But it wasn’t Steve.” She cups Jen’s face softly. “It was _you_ , Jen. That’s why you saved me. I was meant to be brought to you, to your family.”

And Jen can’t take it—she just can’t fucking take it anymore. She surges forward without thinking, capturing Judy’s lips beneath her own and swallowing Judy’s gasp of surprise. It takes only a moment for Judy to react, before her hands are sliding through Jen’s hair and grasping the back of her head and angling her head to make the kiss harder, deeper, _more_. 

Jen feels like her body is on fire, like every nerve has come alive at the feel of finally having Judy’s lips on hers. And it truly is a _finally_ , she realizes. The ugliness she felt inside of her at every mention of Michelle, the brief vindication she felt when Judy said it wasn’t working out, the way she forced herself onto Ben to make herself feel less lonely. She looks back on how comfortable she’s always been with Judy, how Judy has always made _her_ feel safe, feel loved. How Judy has never once judged her or treated her like she’s anything less than perfect.

 _Fuck_. She’s in love with Judy. 

She can feel herself smiling against Judy, separating their lips slightly and causing Judy to smile slightly in response. 

“What?” Judy whispers, so soft that Jen can feel the words more than hear them.

Jen lets out a laugh, captures Judy’s lips once, twice, before pulling back so she can look Judy in the eyes again. “I love you.”

Judy’s smile lights up her entire fucking face and Jen’s heart flips at the sight. 

_Yeah, she really fucking loves her._

Judy slams her lips back into Jen’s with more urgency than before, rolling to the side and pulling Jen on top of her, kissing her almost frantically before pulling back and saying, “I love you too, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Jen echoes with a smirk, trying not to betray how fucking elated that makes her. She captures Judy’s lips again, taking control this time, filling this kiss with purpose. She slips her tongue into Judy’s mouth, quick, teasing, before sliding it back in and tangling their tongues together. She can feel Judy starting to rock into her, trying to gain friction between their bodies and she breaks the kiss with a stuttered breath. “ _Fuck_ ,” she breaths. “Are we really doing this?”

Judy’s spread out like a full course meal beneath her, lips already slightly swollen and her chest heaving. “ _God yes_ ,” she replies. 

At the confirmation it’s like something inside Jen snaps, and she _needs_ Judy now, needs her in a way she never experienced with Ted, never even knew she _could_ experience. She leans forward to kiss Judy’s lips, her cheek, and then moves along to her ear and starts kissing the sensitive skin beneath it before biting it quickly, smirking at the sharp gasp Judy lets out. She continues down the other woman’s neck, alternating between kissing her and giving her quick little bites, before finally reaching her entirely too clothed chest.

She reaches down to the hem of Judy’s t-shirt (borrowed from her, of course) and at Judy’s nod, lifts it up and over the other woman’s head, coming face to face with the most perfect fucking pair of breasts she’s ever seen. 

_“Fuck_ , Judy. How do you seriously look like that?”

She trails her gaze over Judy’s body, thankful that Judy had opted out of borrowing a pair of pants as well. Her toned legs are spread perfectly for Jen and Jen can’t wait to see what lay beneath. But not yet—first she has other areas to focus on. 

She leans forward again, resuming her kisses at the top of Judy’s chest, unable to resist licking the stripe of her collarbone. She trails down, kissing around the soft skin of Judy’s breasts but avoiding where Judy wants her, where she needs her. She continues down to Judy’s stomach, letting out another quick bite to the soft skin there before surging back up quickly to take a nipple in her mouth. Judy lets out a loud fucking moan and Jen slides one of her hands up to cover her mouth because God help them if one of the kids fucking wakes up right now. 

She continues kissing one breast while her free hand moves to the other, tweaking a nipple roughly and causing Judy’s hips to buck up.

 _Interesting_. 

She does it again, and again, and finally bites the other nipple lightly until Judy’s groaning out a “ _Please_ , Jen, I need you to fuck me right now.”

Jen feels a surge of wetness between her own legs at the unexpected words, Judy’s begging really something to her. 

“Yeah?” Jen says. “You want me to fuck you?” She slides her hand down, touching Judy lightly outside the fabric of her underwear, avoiding where she needs her most. “How do you want me?”

Judy groans. “ _Please_.”

“Tell me how you want me to fuck you,” Jen growls out.

“Your- your fingers,” Judy gasps out. 

“Good girl,” Jen says, breaths it right into her ear as she finally slips her fingers under the fabric of Judy’s underwear. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” she groans. 

“Just- for you.” Judy’s panting, trying to find friction against Jen’s fingers. And Jen takes pity on her, moves her hand briefly to pull Judy’s underwear all the way down and then thrusts 2 fingers in quickly, swallowing Judy’s moan with her mouth. She starts slow but Judy starts meeting her thrust for thrust, so Jen speeds up and slides in a third finger before finding Judy’s clit with her thumb.

A high, keening sound comes out of Judy’s mouth, unable to keep kissing Jen at the sensation so Jen moves Judy’s hand up to her own mouth before moving back down to her chest. She takes a nipple roughly into her mouth and flicks her tongue against it in time with her thrusts, causing Judy’s entire body to suddenly bow forward as she comes, hard.

Jen slows her thrusts, helps Judy ride it out before slowly slipping her fingers out, feeling herself clench at the final shudder that works its way through Judy’s body. And that was so hot, so fucking hot, Jen can’t help herself from bringing her fingers to her mouth, licking Judy off her fingers and moaning at the taste. 

“Holy fuck, Jen.” Judy’s gasping for air, looking thoroughly fucked if Jen says so herself. 

(Which of course she feels a glimmer of pride at—take _that_ Michelle.)

But suddenly Jen’s the one on her back, Judy’s taken her by surprise and what the _fuck_ , Jen thought she had the upper hand right now. 

And then Judy’s kissing her, sloppy and wet, and Jen doesn’t care anymore, just wants to fucking get off now because she’s so turned on at this point it’s painful. 

“You’re overdressed,” Judy murmurs, sitting back to grab the hem of Jen’s own t-shirt. And she freezes, slightly, because what if Judy can’t take it either? What if the scars are too much? She won’t make it if Judy reacts the same way as Ted. 

But Judy’s not Ted—Judy is _Judy_ , and she’s perfect, and she’s telling Jen _she’s_ perfect and that she loves her so Jen nods, once, and Judy lifts the shirt over Jen’s head and just looks for a moment before meeting Jen’s eyes, her expression unwavering, and says “You’re beautiful.”

And maybe Jen wants to cry a little but they’re done with that—at least for now—so instead she grabs Judy (a bit roughly) by the back of her head, guiding her to where she wants her. She pushes Judy lower, not at her chest, not yet, and luckily Judy seems to take the hint. She takes the waistband of Jen’s old pajama pants in her hands, looks up at Jen for consent which _yes Judy fucking take them off already_ and then slides off her pants and underwear in one fell swoop.

She spreads Jen’s legs, diving in before Jen even has the chance to feel self conscious because holy _fuck_ that’s Judy’s tongue and nothing has ever felt so good in her entire life. Judy’s going all in, licking Jen like her life depends on it, and somehow already knows all the right places, how to work Jen up perfectly. And Jesus, Jen wonders if it’s always supposed to be this good, if she’s been missing out all these years or if it’s just Judy, _knowing_ her, but it doesn’t matter because yes, _yes_ that’s the spot.

Judy moves up to Jen’s clit, flicking it lightly with her tongue and then suddenly there’s one finger filling her, then two. And Jen’s never been one to be worked up so quickly, has even struggled to come for other people for most of her life (more often than not just faking it with Ted when it was clear he got tired of waiting) but with Judy she can feel it building already, higher, faster, and she’s chasing it, thrusting her hips into Judy’s face without abandon until finally she’s coming and her fucking vision is blacking out and _oh my God_ _is it always supposed to be like this_?

She comes back to herself as Judy starts to make her way up her body, leaning down to give Jen a kiss—slow, sensual, letting Jen taste herself on her tongue—and Jen is just fucking _filled_ with love for this woman. This woman who somehow always knows what she needs and has never once complained about giving it to her.

The truth is that Judy saved _her_ life, and Jen wants to spend the rest of her days making it up to her.

“Will you tell me everything?” Jen asks, breaking the silence. “One day?”

“What do you mean?” Judy settles onto Jen’s chest, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of her neck.

“Your past, how you grew up… the scars. I want to know all of it. I want to know all of you.” Jen wraps her arms around Judy, presses a kiss to her head. “You make me feel so loved, so beautiful-”

“You _are_ beautiful.”

Jen huffs and tries not to let annoyance creep into her tone at the vulnerability. “I just want to make you feel just as safe, okay? I want you to know that you can trust me.” 

Judy lays in silence for a moment before finally whispering a soft, “Okay.”

And they won’t have that talk now, not after everything that already happened tonight, but one day Judy will tell Jen everything—about her mom, about the scars, about Mark and Carl and Danny, even about the baby—and Jen will still be there.

Judy will never be alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> if you made it here congratulations and please let me know all your thoughts and/or yell at me b/c i'm nervous about this one 😬

**Author's Note:**

> .... sorry
> 
> (if you want extra hurt think about this fic while listening to hoax from folklore x)


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